


Pig Guts

by zuotian



Series: Kenman Week 2018 [7]
Category: South Park
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, High School, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuotian/pseuds/zuotian
Summary: Cartman, renounced by the football team and entire school, approaches Kenny, an artistic drifter, at lunch after years of not speaking. He convinces Kenny to skip class, and they have a long overdue conversation about their shared past and the bullshit nature of high school.





	Pig Guts

**Author's Note:**

> ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FANFICTION—EVEN THOSE BASED ON A REAL SHOW—ARE ENTIRELY GRATUITOUS. ALL CANONICAL DIALOGUE IS IMPERSONATED ... POORLY. THE FOLLOWING FANFICTION CONTAINS COARSE LANGUAGE AND DUE TO ITS CONTENT IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE.

It was Kenny’s least favorite time of the day - lunch. He hated it since he was a kid. Everyone else ate name brand snacks and sandwiches from home, or the meals offered by the school, while he could only afford fifty cents for a carton of milk. Park Community High School had a free lunch program for families in poverty but Kenny didn’t participate because of the principle, and hated using the special card he had to swipe in line. Anyway, his appetite was trained to be small after years’ worth of starving, and the bullshit about eating to stay smart was stupid - his grades were fine. 

 

What Kenny really hated was navigating the cafeteria. He used to go outside and sit in the parking lot to avoid interacting with anybody, but after their sixth shooting the school implemented a closed campus policy. It really bugged the goth kids, who by now smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. They moved their brooding spot to a corner of a low traffic hallway where no one would pass by and they could open the windows. Kenny tried hanging with them, but he didn’t even live up to  _ their _ faggy standards because his poetry sucked.

 

So he was back in the cafeteria today. He picked a table in the way back where all the weirdos sat, pulled out a sketchbook he stole from the art room, and set it on his knees, his bent legs pressed against the table and his heels on the edge of his seat. He was average in all his classes except art. With the help of his hippie teacher, a penchant for doodling boobs slowly blossomed into a real proficiency. He could draw a whole naked woman now - not just her breasts - and spent most lunch periods doing just that. 

 

He was sketching the arc of a girl’s buttcheek when somebody sat across from him. Kenny’s pencil stilled. He looked up, then immediately looked back down and resumed drawing - aggressively. 

 

“What do  _ you  _ want?” he asked.

 

Cartman scoffed. It was an annoying sound Kenny had heard all throughout his childhood, and if he was being honest, one he missed. But he wasn’t being honest, not with himself and least of all with Cartman. 

 

“Can’t I sit by my best friend?” 

 

“No,” Kenny said, “because we aren’t friends. Not anymore.” 

 

“God, were you always such a bitch?” 

 

“Only when you were being an asshole.” 

 

Cartman laughed. “I guess,” he said. “Want a tater tot?” 

 

“No. Fuck off.” 

 

“Come on. You’re skin and bones, dude.” 

 

“I can eat. I just don’t.” 

 

“What, are you an ascetic or something?” 

 

Kenny glanced up again, surprised Cartman even knew the word. “No. I just don’t want to feel like I’m on the taxpayer’s dime.” 

 

“A sentiment I’d admire, if your dad wasn’t already constantly cashing in on unemployment.” 

 

Cartman looked the same but different, just like everybody else. He was still fat, but had grown into it a little at six feet - still shorter than Kyle, who ended up with a basketball player’s physique after all, which Kenny imagined drove Cartman crazy. Cartman played football but not anymore, since his latest stunt had pulled him off the team and excommunicated him from the whole student body. He looked naked without his dumb letterman jacket. Kenny felt kind of bad for him, but not really, because it wasn’t the 80s anymore and nobody cared about that crap except Cartman, who thought it was cool. 

 

Kenny focused back his naked lady. She was on her knees, looking at him over her shoulder, ass up. “What do you want?” he repeated. This interaction was giving him loads of adolescent PTSD, and he just wanted it to be over. 

 

“Honestly? I can’t sit anywhere else. People hate me. For real now.” 

 

“They’ve always hated you for real,” Kenny said. “It just took everyone at once for you to notice.” 

 

“Well, I’m off the team, and I don’t really know anyone else but you.” 

 

“That  _ sucks _ ,” Kenny spat, and his pencil broke. He threw it onto the table in a huff. 

 

“What’re you drawing?” Cartman asked. “I saw your painting by the principal’s office - it won an award right?” 

 

Kenny narrowed his eyes. “How did you know that?” 

 

Cartman shrugged. “I needed an elective, so I took art last semester. That hippie bitch talks about you all the time. Well not really. But I asked her about you.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

“Because, I don’t know - you’re good? And I wanted to know how you got away with putting a bunch of naked chicks up in the hallway.” 

 

“You can get away with pornography if you paint it.” 

 

Cartman smiled. “That’s so cool.” 

 

“Shut up,” Kenny said, because he could tell Cartman meant it. “I don’t even want to talk to you.” 

 

“You have been,” Cartman said, and checked his watch, “for the past few minutes, actually.” 

 

Kenny didn’t have anything to say to that, so he put his sketchbook down in front of him for Cartman to see. 

 

Cartman leaned over and whistled. “Damn. She’s hot.” He looked up and smirked. “Do you jack off to your own drawings?” 

 

“No!” 

 

“You could if you wanted to. Mind if I take that?” 

 

Kenny closed the sketchbook and put it into his backpack. “You can’t have it.” 

 

“I’ll trade you my lunch,” Cartman said. He threw a tater tot in Kenny’s face. “Just eat something, dude.” 

 

The tater tot dropped onto the table. Kenny threw it back at him. 

 

Cartman jumped up to the side, his chair screeching, and caught it in his mouth. Maybe football had taught him some reflexes after all. He sat back down, chewed, and swallowed. 

 

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Kenny asked - and he kind of was. 

 

“I got moves,” Cartman said, “loads of them.” 

 

“Oh yeah? Is that why Heidi dumped you for the fifth time?” 

 

“No, but it’s why she keeps coming back.” 

 

“You probably have her family hostage in your basement or something.” 

 

“I don’t, but that’s a good idea.” 

 

Kenny frowned. “You’re not serious, are you?” 

 

Cartman smiled again and spread his hands in a silent gesture of mystery. 

 

“Whatever,” Kenny dismissed. “Listen. Is there a point to all of this?” 

 

“Yeah,” Cartman said. “You feel like ditching?” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Let’s go,” he said. 

 

“Isn’t this your first day back after suspension?” 

 

“I’m not talking all day. Just for a little bit. I’ve got study hall next period, that old fart won’t notice. What’s your next class?” 

 

“Art,” Kenny said. 

 

“See? Your teacher has the hots for you, she won’t care.” 

 

“She doesn’t have the hots for me.”

 

“But she won’t care! Email her or something - use my phone.” 

 

Cartman took his phone from his pocket and held it out. 

 

Kenny stared. “Fine.” 

 

He logged into his school email and sent her a message, making up some excuse about catching up on homework in the library. He didn’t wait for a reply, because Cartman was right - she wouldn’t care. 

 

“Okay,” he said, handing the phone back. “What now?” 

 

“Play it cool,” Cartman said, standing up and shouldering his backpack. 

 

Kenny did the same, and Cartman lead him through the cafeteria. He glanced around, wondering if people saw them together and if so, what they thought. Kyle was sitting with the other IB kids, wearing last year’s basketball tournament t-shirt, his last name emblazoned on the back. Stan was with Wendy, his arm over her shoulder as he boredly listened to her friends. It wasn’t only Cartman and Kenny who drifted apart - everyone had, in the end. 

 

Cartman looked over his shoulder, like the naked girl Kenny had drawn. “Hurry up.”

 

Kenny matched his pace so they were side by side, and they exited the cafeteria.

 

“I know a door that doesn’t call the National Guard when you open it,” Cartman said. “These new rules are all fucked up.” 

 

“Where is it?” 

 

“The gym. It’s always open for practice and shit. Plus one of the coaches goes out to his car and bangs senior girls once a week - but you didn’t hear it from me.” 

 

“Really?” Kenny asked. 

 

“Yeah, dude. Get this - one of em was Wendy! She likes older men - she said so to him.” 

 

“No way. Did you tell Stan?” 

 

“What reason do I have for talking to that asshole? He can figure it out himself and write a song about it.” 

 

Kenny brought the back of his hand up to Cartman’s chest, stilling them both. “Hey - are you lying?” 

 

Cartman stopped. He had to look down. Kenny hadn’t realized how much of a height difference there was between them until now. “No, I’m not.” 

 

Kenny let his hand drift back to his side. “Okay.” 

 

Cartman’s brow furrowed. “You’re not going to tell him, right? The last thing I need is to get somebody fired.”

 

Kenny shook his head. “I won’t.” 

 

Cartman held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” 

 

They resumed walking. Kenny pocketed his hands, perturbed at the fact he initiated physical contact. 

 

Conversation lulled after that. They walked downstairs to the gym. Cartman pulled keys from his backpack and unlocked the door.

 

“I told them I lost my key,” he explained. “Fucking idiots.” 

 

“Why do you have them in the first place?” Kenny asked. 

 

“I was manager before I was on the team. I had to come in and get the place ready for conditioning and shit when we couldn’t go outside.” 

 

“Oh - right.” Kenny had forgotten. 

 

Cartman opened the door. They were instantly swamped by the vastness of the gymnasium, its vaulted ceiling and bleachers that went for miles on every side. 

 

Cartman strolled ahead, his steps echoing over the waxed floorboards, and stopped in the middle of the court. “I won’t miss practice, but I’ll miss the game. There’s nothing like tackling another man to the ground and have him at your mercy, you know?” 

 

“Sure,” Kenny said, pausing a few steps away from him.

 

“No you don’t. It’s like - if you were banned from painting for life.” 

 

Kenny shrugged. “But if it was my own damn fault, I guess I’d have to learn to live with it.” 

 

Cartman sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Anyway…”

 

He lead Kenny to a set of heavy double doors behind the bleachers, unlocked those too, and pushed one open. No alarms went off. The deans didn’t come out of hiding to expel them, and there weren’t any National Guards dropping from above. 

 

A gust of cold, early spring air swept in. Kenny squinted his eyes at the sunlight. They stepped outside and the door thudded shut behind them with finality. 

 

“We’re free,” Cartman said. 

 

“For an hour,” Kenny added. 

 

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Don’t ruin it.”

 

“What’s your plan, anyway?” Kenny asked. They began traversing the student parking lot, past the coach’s sedan where he supposedly fucked barely legal girls. “We’re outta school. What now? You just wanna get high or something?” 

 

Cartman glanced at him sharply, then looked back ahead. “ _ No _ .” 

 

Kenny laughed. “You’re so stupid. At least that hasn’t changed.” 

 

“Do you have any better ideas? What else can you do for an hour five blocks from school?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Kenny admitted. 

 

“I hate this town anyways,” Cartman said. “Fucking North Park. This place can kiss my ass. Don’t even get me started on the  _ commute _ . How do you get here - horse and buggy? You still don’t have a car, right?”

 

“I ride the bus.” 

 

“Of course. Like a  _ loser _ .” 

 

“You drive a minivan,” Kenny pointed out, coming upon the vehicle itself. “I don’t think that’s much better.” 

 

Cartman walked around to the driver’s side. “It was free, okay? My mom gave it to me after her new sugar daddy got her a Maserati.” He got his keys out again and opened the door, then hit the unlock button. “Get in, loser. We’re smoking weed.” 

 

“Was that some sort of weird Mean Girls reference?” Kenny asked over the top of the van. 

 

“Just get in! Jesus.” 

 

Cartman sat down and threw his backpack on the seats behind him. Kenny sidled in the passenger side. The van reeked of stale french fries. Kenny kicked around the bags fast food at his feet, and eventually kept his bookbag on his lap.

 

“Fuck - “ 

 

Cartman had started the car. Justin Timberlake blasted through the speakers. He quickly ejected the CD, and an NSYNC’s Greatest Hits disc fell out. 

 

“Nice,” Kenny commented. 

 

“Screw off.” Cartman popped the middle console open to return the CD. The smell of marijuana wafted upward. “Pack me a hitter,” he commanded, and reversed out of the parking spot. 

 

Kenny obliged. Cartman idled at the parking lot exit and took one big hit, then passed it back. He waved his hand at the console, keep the air in his throat so it would saturate his brain better. 

 

Kenny paused. He was sent to rehab in the summer after sophomore year at the state’s behest, to avoid a cheesing charge. Since then he’d been totally clean, because since then he didn’t have any friends to get inebriated with. The falling out between himself, Cartman, Kyle, and Stan fell on all of their shoulders; but Kenny’s spiral into teenage addiction was his own fault.

 

“I don’t smoke anymore,” he said. 

 

“What the hell?” Cartman half-coughed. A cloud of smoke expelled between them. He cleared his throat and finally made his turn out of the parking lot. “You don’t smoke anymore - or you haven’t smoked again till  _ now? _ ” 

 

“I really shouldn’t,” Kenny said. “I’m fine, you know. Being sober.” 

 

“Is the pope fine not fondling little boys’ balls?” 

 

“Cartman - “ 

 

“We all have our vices, Kenny. It’s about picking the ones that are least worst. Do you really think some weed is gonna get you back on the cat piss?” 

 

“ _ I _ don’t know!” He really shouldn’t be taking advice from Cartman, either. 

 

“Yes, you do.” Cartman glanced away from the road. “What about your paintings and shit? You’ve got all that now, right?” 

 

“I guess.” 

 

“Besides, it’ll get you hungry. You seriously need to eat something, dude.” 

 

“Why do you care about me eating so much, all of a sudden?” 

 

“I’m gonna fatten you up and put you in some chili.”

 

Kenny snorted. “It wouldn’t be the worst way to go out,” he said, speaking from experience, and packed the hitter. 

 

“My boy is back,” Cartman hurrahed, and reached over to pat Kenny’s knee. 

 

Kenny flicked the lighter and took a deep breath. He coughed immediately, eyes watering. “Shit,” he gasped. “It’s - been awhile.” 

 

Cartman put his hand back on the wheel, used the other to roll down the windows. “It sure has. Hey - put on whatever you want. All I have in here is Justin Timberlake and Lady Gaga, seriously.” 

 

“That’s gay.” Kenny leaned forward to mess with the radio dial, and picked the classic rock station he favored. “I love Bob Seger,” he sighed. 

 

“ _ That’s _ gay,” Cartman said. “Pack another.”

 

“I haven’t smoked in like...two years,” Kenny reminded, his mind already getting fuzzy. “I’m good, dude.” 

 

“Then pack one for me.” 

 

Kenny did so and passed it over. Cartman took the hit one handed. Since he was high, Kenny gave himself permission to watch. Cartman’s arms were thick, his skin bunching at the elbow as he held the hitter to his mouth after dropping the lighter into a cupholder. He only wore t-shirts, partly because he thought himself above the inclinations of weather, and partly because he liked showing off his new football body. He was a defensive lineman or whatever, with muscle underneath all the reduced fat. Most people thought he didn’t have anything to show off. But Kenny - and Heidi, maybe - certainly thought otherwise. 

 

Kenny forced himself to look away. He rolled the window down and closed his eyes, so the fresh air slapped cold against his face. 

 

“You’re high, dude,” Cartman observed. 

 

Kenny grinned. “Maybe. Be quiet, I like this song. I’m running against the wind, dude.” 

 

“I’m driving you against the wind, more like.” 

 

“We’re older now,” Kenny mumbled along, “but still driving against the wind…” 

 

He drifted off in a weird, half-awake sleep for a few minutes, and Cartman let him be. When the van pulled to a stop, Kenny opened his eyes and found them in a McDonald’s drive thru, waiting behind another car. 

 

“What do you want?” Cartman asked. 

 

“What?” Kenny rubbed his eyes, sitting up. “Nothing.” 

 

“I got cash. I win lots of fantasy football.” 

 

“What? Really?” 

 

“It’s just numbers - player stats and probability. It’s easy. I can predict the  _ future _ , basically. So what do you want? I know you got the munchies.” 

 

“Um…” Kenny  _ was _ hungry. Stupid fucking weed. “Surprise me.” 

 

Cartman ordered two large Big Mac meals, both with shakes. He pulled around to the window, dropped the food in Kenny’s lap, and they were back on the road. 

 

“You didn’t have to,” Kenny said, his mouth salivating. 

 

“And you didn’t have to come with me,” Cartman countered. “So, fuck off and enjoy it. We only have like half an hour left. I’m gonna take you someplace cool, we’ll have a real lunch, then go back to lame-ass school.” 

 

He turned the radio up again, and Kenny didn’t say anything. His stomach growled at the greasy messy in front of him. Stupid fucking Cartman. 

 

They edged out of town, almost as if they were returning to South Park. Cartman pulled off onto a gravel back road. Fields of melted snow splayed out on either side, interspersed with pine trees and telephone lines. He slowed down as the trees thickened, then turned again and parked beside a dark copse. 

 

“We’re here,” he announced, and unbuckled his seatbelt. 

 

Kenny followed suit, taking the food with him as they got out of the van. They were hedged in by trees all around, sunlight scarce. Cartman headed down the road shoulder; Kenny kept at his heels. They emerged on the edge of a small creek bordered with weeds and boulders high off the snowy ground. 

 

“You didn’t take me here to like, murder me, right?” Kenny asked. 

 

“If I was gonna kill you, you’d already be dead,” Cartman reassured. He sat on one of the boulders and took the food from Kenny. “Sit down.” 

 

Kenny sat down. Cartman handed him one of the Big Macs. Kenny flipped the box open and devoured half the sandwich in about three bites. 

 

“Holy shit,” Cartman said. 

 

“I haven’t been this hungry in forever,” Kenny defended around a mouthful of food. 

 

“Obviously. I should get you high more often.” Compared to Kenny, he ate at a much slower pace - and that was saying something. 

 

Kenny burped once he was done, with the burger and fries and everything. He took the first sip of his shake. “What’s this really all about, Cartman?” he asked. 

 

Cartman gave him a sardonic look, as if to say ‘I know you’re not stupid.’ “I told you - everybody else hates me.” 

 

Kenny sighed. He set his shake down, retrieved his pack of cigarettes from his jacket’s inner pocket, and lit one. He always had to smoke after he ate - plus Cartman was stressful enough. “What if I hate you?” 

 

Cartman shook his head. “I know that’s not true.” 

 

“How?” 

 

“You’re here, aren’t you?” 

 

Kenny exhaled a plume of smoke. “I guess so, yeah. But what’s in it for you?”

 

“I already  _ said _ about a thousand times.” Cartman tossed all their garbage in the paper sack. “What more do you want to know?” 

 

“Why now?” Kenny demanded. “Why are you talking to me now? It’s just because I’m the only one left, isn’t it?” 

 

“In a way,” Cartman said. “You’re the only person left who isn’t a total moron.” 

 

“If you think I’m so smart, then why’d you stop talking to me?” 

 

“I was dumb,” Cartman admitted. Kenny blinked, and shifted to face him better. He continued, “High school is an infectious disease. I was sucked in before I knew it. I didn’t  _ want _ to be, but I was. It’s why I joined the football team - all these varsity guys kept telling me I was built like a tank in gym class, so I went and did it. It’s good to be fat. I could steamroll some of those assholes. But I’m not good enough to get a scholarship or something. I always knew that.” 

 

Cartman looked away to watch the creek current. Kenny followed his gaze. A hunk of ice broke off the creek bank and floated past them. 

 

“Eventually, it’s like, what’s the point? I was on the team. I hung out with the guys. But they all had twenty concussions a piece - nobody intelligent. I got sick of it. And if you ask Kyle, with his honor classes and basketball trophies - I’m sure he’s sick of it too. So is Stan with his cheater girlfriend and his faggy band. But then I remembered you - I never forgot, actually.” 

 

Kenny turned his head. “What do you mean?” 

 

“I just couldn’t think of you, or else I felt like a total cop-out. Here I was, choosing to associate with a bunch of pricks, playing football for the hell of it when it wouldn’t get me anywhere. But you never did any of that. Sure, you were kinda fucked up for awhile - but after you came back that summer, you were different. You never tried to get in with anybody, and after you came back you owned that shit.” 

 

Cartman leaned down to pick up a random rock, and threw it into the creek. Cold water splashed up to their ankles. 

 

“You never got caught in the stream,” he said. 

 

Kenny tapped his cigarette, smirking. “You sound like Stan.” 

 

Cartman scowled at him. “Except I actually know what I’m saying. I’m trying to have my first intelligent conversation in years, here.”  

 

“Well,” Kenny said, “it’s not that great. I’m lonely,” he confessed. 

 

“Being a loner is better than being whatever everyone else is.” Cartman eye’s bored into Kenny’s. He had a very intense look that he could turn on at will - the kind that revealed everything about you. Or maybe it only worked on Kenny. “I remember in elementary, I was the same, and we were in it together. I just got caught up - in all the bullshit.” 

 

“Is that why you did what you did?” Kenny asked. 

 

The spell was broken - Cartman scoffed. “What, you mean making prom unforgettable?” 

 

“You put pig guts in the confetti cannons. It was like some  _ Carrie _ type shit.” 

 

“That’s what I’m saying! Maybe the world needs to be a stupid Stephen King book again. Fucked up shit used to happen all the time when we were kids - and everyone just  _ forgot _ . It was a statement. People just don’t understand. Something needed to change.” 

 

“I thought it was kind of funny,” Kenny said. 

 

Cartman’s brows raised in surprise. “You were there?” 

 

“Yeah, I dipped in. It’s our senior year - I thought I should at least go once. It was terrible, though. The food sucked. The music sucked. Nobody to dance with. And if I had somebody, I wouldn’t dance anyway. I was about to leave, when you did that. It was awesome. It made everything worth it. Everybody screaming and crying. I had to go out to the parking lot, I was laughing my ass off.” 

 

“See!” Cartman smiled. “That’s what I’m talking about - you  _ get _ it.” 

 

“I’m an artist,” Kenny said. “I can appreciate a statement when I see one. Same as putting a bunch of naked chicks next to the principal’s office - it’s all the same.” 

 

“I’m glad you noticed, then. Out of anybody, I did it for you.” 

 

“You’re real romantic,” Kenny noted. 

 

“It got me off the team,” Cartman said. “It’s a relief. I couldn’t stand it, after awhile. And the break with suspension - it made me rethink some things. And that’s why I talked to you today.” 

 

“I’m glad you did,” Kenny told him. 

 

“Yeah. Me too.” Cartman checked his phone. “Not to cut this short, but we should head back. If I get kicked out for real, it’ll give my mom a stroke.” 

 

“That’s okay,” Kenny said. He snubbed his cigarette out and threw it into the creek. “Hey - uh, maybe when school is over, we could hang out.” 

 

“Sure - I’d like that.” 

 

They got back in the van. Cartman dropped the Mcdonald’s sack with the rest of the trash at Kenny’s feet. The ride back to school was quiet, because nothing else needed to be said. They walked back through the gymnasium, into the locker room, and parted ways after re-entering the hallway. But Kenny knew it wouldn’t be the last of Cartman - it never was. 

**Author's Note:**

> had a lot of fun with this one. it incorporates some of my own "adolescent PTSD." basically, high school sucks, especially when you lose friends.
> 
> i'm officially done with the kenman week prompts. thanks for reading everybody. 
> 
> ive got a fic in mind that isn't kenman, so look out for that soon! it will involve sex addict kenny and celibate priest butters but doesn't have any ships. 
> 
> as always please leave a comment


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